Three Variations on a Theme
by The Inspired Quill
Summary: Full title: Three Variations on a Theme - The Many Stories behind the Ugly Duckling. Three ways the story of the Ugly Duckling could have gone, and the one way it did.


**Three Variations on a Theme – **

**The Many Stories Behind the Ugly Duckling**

* * *

><p><strong>The Original Ugly Duckling<strong>

**(Full)**

The white orb was only one egg out of the millions that lay in the hatchery. Almost indistinguishable from all the rest, only the crumpled scrap of paper attached marked it as 'For Mother Swan.'

A stork swooped down from the crevice in the ceiling, broad wings extended to slow its descent. Sightless Stork—who wasn't completely blind, but very close—snatched up the egg and flew back out.

The stork soared in the cloudless azure sky, gliding from one thermal to another as she scanned the ground below with her clouded eyes. She passed a blurry red farmhouse, a wheat field, a marsh. Finally, she spotted a patch of reeds.

Sightless Stork dived towards the ground, egg still firmly in her grasp, and gently alighted on the bed of reeds. She waddled forward cautiously, tilting her head this way and that, looking for the nest. It was around here, somewhere.

A faint peeping caught her attention, and pulling back a long clump of the reddish stalks, the stork prodded the bundle of sticks and twigs with her beak. Uncovering five gleaming white eggs, Sightless Stork gently deposited the final egg into the nest.

She pulled the cover of sticks and twigs back over the nest, hopped over the wall of reeds, and flew off into the sky.

Superior Stork should have known better than to allow Sightless Stork deliver an egg; she should have known better than to give in to her begging, pleading, and insisting. Superior Stork should have known the poor fledgling would end up in Mother Duck's nest.

The ducklings hatched a few days later, tumbling into the world in a heap of yellow fluff and fuzz. The female ducks crowded around the nest in anticipation, Mother Duck the proudest of all.

"My ducklings will be perfect," she announced, voice full of delight.

One of the baby ducks untangled himself from the rest, and waddled forward a few steps to the edge of the nest. In the female ducks' eyes, he really was perfect: Soft golden feathers covered him from his fuzzy head to stubby tail, his eyes shone with curiosity and innocence, and his large webbed feet carried him in the stumbling gait common to all newborns.

He peeped once, and fell back into the nest.

"Absolutely wonderful, Mother Duck!" one of the female ducks declared, gushing with adoration.

Mother Duck beamed. Gently, she nudged all the yellow ducklings out of the nest, where they stumbled around with wide eyes.

"There's still one more egg in the nest!" a duck at the edge of the gathering called out.

Blinking in confusion, Mother Duck stepped up to the nest and peered in. The duck was right: a oval orb, almost glowing among the dark reeds, still rested motionless in the nest.

They waited for a few anxious minutes.

"I don't remember this one," Mother Duck muttered to herself.

There was a tiny, barely audible crack, and the first piece of eggshell fell to the nest. Then there was another, and the cracks spread until the final duckling popped out in a flurry of gray feathers.

The ducks all emitted a collective gasp.

"This isn't mine!" Mother Duck quickly declared. "I don't know how it got here, but this certainly isn't my duckling!"

"It's not even a duckling at all," another duck offered.

"And you're not my mother!" the little bird piped up, staring straight into the brown eyes of Mother Duck. He flapped his stubby little wings for emphasis.

Again, the ducks all emitted a collective gasp.

"It speaks!" one marveled.

"Of course I speak," retorted the gray bird. "Where are my parents?"

Mother Duck felt every pair of eyes bore into her, and she reluctantly stepped forward so she was bill to bill with the little ugly duckling. "Not 'where', ugly duckling, 'who'. I am your mother," she whispered slowly.

The fluffy creature did not respond. Instead, he bounded out of the nest in one huge leap, narrowly missing one of the yellow-feathered ducklings. "No, you're not," he called over his shoulder. "You're a duck, and I'm a swan." He waddled his way through all the little ducks, disappearing into the reeds. His last words floated back to the ducks around the nest. "I'm going to look for my real parents."

The ducks all fell into a stunned silence.

"Well," one huffed finally, flapping her gray wings. "Good riddance! That was certainly one hideous-looking duckling!"

"Cygnet," one murmured, looking into the reeds.

"What?" asked the gray-winged duck.

"He's a cygnet," she replied, "not a duckling. And with no mother to protect him, he will certainly get himself killed in a few days' time. You have to go after him, Mother Duck."

The duck was torn with indecision. She did not want the additional burden of caring for a swan's chick, but she couldn't allow the poor youngster to fend for himself. The duck was right—he would never survive.

"Stay here, my precious babies," she cooed to her ducklings. Then she lifted off the ground and headed in the direction of the pond.

The ducks were wrong about one thing, though: The little cygnet couldn't have survived for even one hour.

Mother Duck found the swan thrashing about in the pond. Water droplets sprayed everywhere, and she half turned away, shielding her face with one wing, as the cygnet struggled to stay afloat.

Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore. She leaned forward and plucked the precocious little creature out of the pond, and proceeded to dry him.

"You're not my mother," he commented as she smoothed his feathers. "Why're you still here?"

Mother Duck froze at his tone. "I'm saving you," she hissed angrily. At the sudden hurt expression, her anger melted away. "You have to stay with me. Only I can take care of you."

The cygnet stubbornly shook his head. "I have to find my real parents."

Mother Duck wanted to refuse, to insist the cygnet stay with her, but something in his tone made her relent. "If—if you must leave," she said softly, "you have to promise me one thing: Promise you will try to stay safe."

She knew this was an unwise decision. How could she ask him to keep a promise like that, considering how he had fallen into the pond so soon after his first departure. But she was willing to give it a try. He had an aura, one that none of her own ducklings possessed, that made her think he really could do it.

The cygnet looked away, but Mother Duck caught a barely whispered, "I will, Mother Duck."

She released him from her grasp, and the little ugly duckling who never was hers toddled away once more into the reeds.

Stumbling around on new legs, the cygnet looked around at the wide world with equally wide eyes. There was so much to see!

Stalks of wheat rippled in the wind, a sea of golden shafts. Behind the young bird, the waters of the pond stirred sleepily in the wake of the wind, calm once again.

Birds of all shape and colour flitted from one tree to another, balancing precariously on a thin stalk of wheat before diving for some unseen meal on the ground below. Sparrows sang loudly in the bushes, and geese honked overhead as they flew north.

The first bird the little cygnet met was a blue-gray sparrow. "Excuse me, but have you seen my mother?"

"What's your name, child?" The sparrow looked up, a writhing bug clutched in its beak. She swallowed, cocked her head, and repeated the question more clearly.

"I was never given a name," the young bird admitted. "But Mother Duck called me a little 'ugly duckling'. But I'm not a duckling; I'm a cygnet!"

"'Ugly Duckling'," the sparrow mused. "That's not exactly a flattering name. But it'll do." The sparrow drew herself up to her full height, which still wasn't very tall, and proclaimed, "Ugly Duckling, I have not seen your mother!"

Then she turned around and resumed pecking at the ground. The cygnet stared at her, uncomprehendingly.

Ugly Duckling, as he began to be called, experienced many such occurrences. He met more sparrows, hawks, and geese. Most of them taunted him, calling him "hideously ugly" and "a disgrace to the avian world." At least the geese had been kind enough to warn him about the hunters.

He was never too upset about the taunting, though. Considering he was a scorned chick ever since he hatched, insults and names never quite bothered him.

What did bother him was the fact that nobody knew his mother. He was a swan, a member a species renowned for grace, elegance, and beauty. His mother should be famous and gentle and loving.

"But if she was famous and gentle and loving," Ugly Duckling muttered sadly, eyes trained on the sky, "she would never have left me! I should be with her."

He wandered for a day, eating bugs like the sparrow he had first encountered. He followed his instincts, heading whichever way his little feet took him.

After the sun had set and darkness cloaked the world, Ugly Duckling decided to rest for a night. As he lay down under a large tree, he almost wished he was back with Mother Duck and her perfect yellow ducklings. But then an image of an elegant white swan with a kind expression manifested in his mind, and his resolve hardened.

He would find her tomorrow.

When Ugly Duckling awoke, he felt a pair of large hands grasp him, and he struggled in desperation as he was lifted off the ground.

"Now, don't you struggle," a booming voice instructed. "I'm going to keep you for a bit, and then throw you in the pot!"

Desperation overcame Ugly Duckling, and he thrashed with renewed vigor. He didn't understand the words of the country woman, but he understood the notion of being helpless and in a predator's hands. He had no mother to teach him, but the cygnet didn't need to learn that being captured was not conducive to survival.

He flapped his stubby little wings, but it did him no good. He tried to bite the hands that carried him easily to a large barn wreathed in shadows, but he couldn't reach the hardened, weathered skin. His feet kicked, but he might have well been staying still for all the good it did him.

"Get in, goose!" The country woman shouted as Ugly Duckling was helplessly propelled forward.

As he landed painfully in a foul-smelling cage, he only caught a brief glimpse of a pair of gleaming dark eyes before the woman closed the latch and promptly marched out.

And this was only the first day of his journey. It was not looking well.

All Ugly Duckling could see was darkness. It wasn't pure black, as the shadows flickered with differing intensities, but it was enough to instill feelings of loneliness and helplessness. He had been feeling miserable ever since landing in the prison-like enclosure a week ago, and the darkness only intensified his unhappiness.

Moping around feeling sorry for himself, the young cygnet did not catch the gleam of amber eyes. Moments later, however, he did hear the faint swish of a tail and a creature padding towards him.

"Who's there?" he called out, uncertain. Was it another predator waiting to capture him?

He heard murmuring and a faint squawking, but there was no answer. Ugly Duckling waddled to the edge of his enclosure and strained against the wire links, desperately hoping for a rescuer.

Suddenly, two pairs of large eyes loomed before him, and he fell back against the dusty straw with a high-pitched squeak. It was too dark to discern the exact colours of the eyes, but all the cygnet needed to know was that he was no longer alone.

"So this is the new one," the cat mused, slitted eyes staring at Ugly Duckling.

"I see," added another voice. The shape of the shadows looked like a hen, but its voice was so guttural and raspy that the young swan wondered if it was something else—an old, dying snake, perhaps. "What shall we do with him, Felis?"

"What would you suggest, Gallus? I haven't seen a new one in years, not since the old woman disposed of the last one." The cat's tone was light, but Ugly Duckling understood the words too well.

The cygnet started to tremble in fear. "Please, who are you?"

Both the hen and cat turned to look disdainfully at the young bird. "Felis and Gallus, cat and hen," the feline purred. "And just who are you?"

"I'm called Ugly Duckling, but—"

Before the cygnet could say another word, both Felis and Gallus burst into laughter. They were so loud Ugly Duckling feared the noises would draw the attention of the woman, but there was no sign of her.

Finally, Felis walked forward until his nose rested against the wires. "You're different," she noted. "You're not a goose."

Indignity, Ugly Duckling piped up, "Yes, I'm a swan!"

"I suppose that means you won't lay eggs, then," Gallus noted, clucking her beak in disapproval. "You'll be in big trouble."

"You'll grow fat, and she'll eat you!" Felis taunted.

Ugly Duckling whimpered with fear. "I want to escape," he pleaded. "Please, help me."

Felis turned to the hen. "What do you think?"

Gallus remained silent for a few moments, and then spoke. "Felis, we never get any food. All of the scraps go to this—ah—Ugly Duckling, here. What if we promised to free him in return for all of his food?"

"Sounds good," Felis replied. "What do you think, Duckling?"

"Oh, yes!" Ugly Duckling nearly collapsed in relief. He was going to be saved! "Open the cage now, Felis and Gallus!"

The hen gave the little chick an odd look. "If you leave now, we'll be punished and we won't get all your food. In a week, we'll let you out. That way the punishment will be worth it."

Panic flooded through the cygnet. "But what if she eats me before then?"

The cat ambled off into a shadowy corner. His voice lingered in the air for a moment. "You won't; you're not fat enough."

The cygnet collapsed at this statement. This ordeal was too much to handle in one day.

Ugly Duckling kept his part of the bargain. Although he grew weaker each day he went without food, the little bird knew freedom would be worth it.

Finally, on the seventh night, after Felis and Gallus had eaten their fill, the cat quietly marched up to the little cage. With one quick swipe, he opened the latch.

Ugly Duckling blinked. Then, in one fluid motion, he leapt out of the cage and landed on the cold ground. "I'm free!"

"You kept your bargain, little one," the cat told him, sounding satisfied. "It's rare to see a captive keep it up for an entire week. The other ones we've seen—well, they never lasted long. So good luck out there; you'll need it."

Just before the tall grasses hid the two animals from his view, Ugly Duckling looked back and saw something like grudging admiration in their eyes. Then he leaped away into the bright wilderness, savouring the wonderful taste of freedom.

Months passed after his escape from the cage, and the days gradually grew colder. The green leaves took on vivid fiery hues, and then seemingly just as quickly withered and fell off the tree, to be carried away by the wind.

One cool afternoon, Ugly Duckling looked up to see a flock of the most beautiful birds he had ever seen skimming over the clouds across the sky. Instinctively, he knew they were swans.

"Family," he murmured.

Ugly Duckling watched them for an awestruck moment, and then tried to fly up and join them. He concentrated hard, eyes shut tight, and flapped his wings for all he was worth. He leaped, propelling himself upwards, and flapped desperately. The winds whirled around him and he tried so hard—

It was useless; completely useless.

Dejected, Ugly Duckling followed them with mournful eyes. He wished with all his heart he could be flying away with them.

He wandered alone for another few months, and the days grew shorter. The winds blew with renewed ferocity, and the trees bent and swayed so wildly Ugly Duckling often had to duck to avoid a sweeping branch.

One bitter winter morning, the young swan arrived at a pond much like the one he fell into so many months before. Reeds circled the small pond, glittering with frost.

Ugly Duckling made a small nest for himself. Alone and unhappy, he drifted off to sleep.

At first it was bearable—he readily found food and nobody bothered him here. He had almost given up hope of ever finding his parents, but still searched the sky and the lands around him. Still, he lacked the enthusiam and blind optimism he had when he first started his journey, and as the days shortened and grew dark, he sank deeper into the pool of misery.

Ugly Duckling avoided humans after his strenuous ordeal with the country woman, but one afternoon found him nibbling away at some corn a kind farmer had thrown into the reeds when he was desperately starving. Slowly, the young swan and the farmer became somewhat of an odd pair, visiting each other for brief moments each day.

Snow fell during the next few days. White flakes drifted from the sky, and when the young swan woke from a deep slumber, snow covered the ground. The farmer took pity on the young swan and brought him to his little cottage. The children adored him and showered him with care and love.

"Can we keep him, Dad?" they chorused one afternoon. Spring had finally arrived and chased away the cold grasp of winter. Ugly Duckling grew larger; he grew into a beautiful swan. He wasn't aware of this transformation, blissfully enjoying the love he received each day.

The farmer paused, leaning on his rake. "Well, kids, much as I'd love to, we have to let him go. He's getting too big for the house."

"We could keep him outside!" they insisted. "Please, Dad, please?"

"He's a grown-up swan now," the farmer explained gently. "He has to live amongst his kind."

But even though they pleaded and begged and insisted and cajoled, the farmer was unrelenting. Finally, with tearful goodbyes, the swan left the farmer's family.

He returned to his pond. The waters were clear; there was no sign that snow had ever left its mark. Ugly Duckling returned to his lonely, dreary existence.

The young swan searched less and less each day. He only briefly glanced up at the sky; he only surveyed the land with sad eyes. He wanted to give up.

Weeks passed, the uneventful days blurring into each other. He was still alone.

It was a fine spring morning when everything changed. The sun cast a golden glow upon the land, the songbirds chirped cheerily as they flew overhead, and not a single cloud floated across the sky.

None of this mattered to Ugly Duckling anymore. "Is there a point to life anymore?" he cried. "Why do I keep doing this? Maybe it would be easier to just let go."

"No, child," a soft voice responded. "There is a point to life."

Ugly Duckling froze with shock. Only one type of bird had that kind of voice—sweet and melodic with a beautiful trill. He turned around, and before him, a flock of swans landed gracefully on the pond's surface with barely a splash.

They were just as gorgeous as he imagined. Pure white feathers, kind eyes—they were his family.

"Mother?" he hoarsely wondered.

She rushed forward and enveloped him in her huge wings. "It is you!" Her voice was full of pride and joy. "We've waited so long for you."

Ugly Duckling was too stunned to speak.

His mother sensed his confusion. "Superior Stork contacted us, and we've been following your trail! We met Mother Duck, and Felis and Gallus, and those sparrows—oh, child, I'm so glad we're together now!"

Another swan stepped forward. "You've grown beautifully."

Awestruck, the young swan turned. "Father?"

Soon, his entire family crowded around them, praising him for his elegance and perseverance. He was one of them now, a full adult swan.

Two figures standing at the edge of the pond caught his eye, and he glanced curiously at them. It was the children who had taken care of him during the winter.

"He's beautiful!" the girl gasped. "He's grown so much!"

"And he's with his flock now!" the other child added. "It's where he belongs."

"I belong," murmured the swan.

He was no longer an ugly duckling; he was no longer abandoned and alone. He was with his family, and that made his entire journey worth every grueling moment.

He was home.

**The Original Ugly Duckling**

**(Short)**

The duck pond glittered in the sun's early glow, wisps of clouds floated across the clear azure sky, and birds sang merrily as they heralded another morning.

It was the perfect day for Mother Duck's newest brood to hatch. The ducklings tumbled into the world in a heap of yellow fluff and fuzz, eyes shining with curiosity and innocence as they peered at the wide world.

"They're absolutely wonderful!" Mother Duck declared.

But when the last duckling popped out in a flurry of gray feathers, she gasped in horror. "What an ugly duckling!"

The young cygnet looked around him. "This is a duck pond," he realized. "There are no swans here. I'll have to go look for my real parents." Without even a farewell, he bounded out of the nest, fierce determination sparkling in his black eyes. Mother Duck watched him go.

For the first few days, the cygnet stumbled around on new legs. He looked around at the wide world with equally wide eyes. Stalks of wheat rippled in the wind, a sea of golden shafts. Birds of all shape and colour flew around the field and into the trees at the edge. Behind the young bird, the waters of the pond stirred sleepily.

The first bird the little cygnet met was a blue-gray sparrow. "Have you seen my family?" he inquired. "They're swans."

The small bird looked up, annoyance in her brown eyes. "No. I haven't seen anyone as ugly as you."

The little cygnet was undeterred, but most of the birds gave the same insulting replies. At least the geese were kind enough to warn him about the hunters.

Although he wasn't bothered by the taunts, he was upset that no one knew his family. "They should be famous and gentle and loving," the cygnet muttered sadly, eyes trained on the sky. "I should be with them."

A few days later, an old country woman captured him and prepared to throw him into her stew. Desperately, the cygnet spotted a scarred tabby and hen nearby. "Please, help me!"

The cat ambled over and the hen followed. They inspected him closely. "You're not a goose," the cat decided. "Your bones will taste terrible. I guess we'll have to free you, little ugly duckling."

Before the old woman could react, the cat quickly nipped through the bands holding the cygnet captive.

"Oh, thank you!" he gasped, and bolted out of the small farmhouse.

Months passed after his escape from the cage, and the days gradually grew colder. The green leaves took on vivid fiery hues, and then seemingly just as quickly withered and fell off the tree, carried away by the wind.

One cool afternoon, the little cygnet looked up to see a flock of the most beautiful birds he had ever seen skimming over the clouds across the sky. Instinctively, he knew they were swans.

"Family," he murmured. The sight of the majestic creatures gave him a spark of hope, and he continued traveling with renewed vigor.

Finally, the young swan arrived at an seemingly uninhabited pond. A kind farmer spotted him huddling in the snow, and took him home. The ugly duckling thrived on the care and love of the farmer's children through the harsh winter, but they tearfully released him once the snow melted.

When he returned to the pond, a large flock of swans spotted him, and their eyes lit up. "Look, he's our missing child!" Soon, the young swan's entire family crowded around him.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught sight of the two children still at the edge of the pond. "He's with his flock now!" the girl exclaimed joyfully, her tears drying up. "He's the prettiest among them."

Pure delight spread through the swan, and he knew his journey was over. He was home.

**One. To Find a Family**

**(Full)**

The duck pond glittered in the sun's early glow, wisps of clouds floated across the clear azure sky, and birds sang merrily as they heralded another morning.

It was the perfect day for Mother Duck's newest brood to hatch. The ducklings tumbled into the world in a heap of yellow fluff and fuzz, eyes shining with curiosity and innocence as they peered at the wide world.

"They're perfect!" Mother Duck gushed.

Then, without warning, the last duckling popped out in a flurry of gray feathers. Mother Duck recoiled in horror, shielding her ducklings from the monstrosity with a sweep of her wing. "What an ugly duckling!"

Immediately, tears sprang to the gray duckling's eyes. "You—you don't like me?" he whimpered, voice small.

Shame flooded over Mother Duck. "No, no," she assured him quickly, "you're just not a duckling. You're a cygnet. Why don't you go and look for your real parents?" With a flick of a wing, she sent him on his way.

The little swan's eyes stung from tears threatening to spill. Why didn't his mother want him? Was it because he didn't have perfect yellow feathers and perfect black eyes? Maybe she just needed time to realize that he was different. The little cygnet wanted to stay with her.

The ugly duckling slept in the reeds for the first night, sobbing with sadness.

When the sun rose the next morning, the cygnet felt a little healed. Perhaps today Mother Duck would want him. He hurried back to the nest, but found it empty. Not even the eggshells remained.

The young swan leaped into the pond and started paddling. Maybe she was teaching her perfect little ducklings to swim. The little gray bird thrashed around, stirring up a spray of water, and slowly began to float downstream.

However, by the time he spotted Mother Duck and her brood of perfect little ducklings, the water's current began to push him downstream relentlessly. The swan tried to turn around, but the flow was too strong. He was helpless, caught in the current, and as he passed by, the ducks didn't bother even to turn around.

Finally, when the current subsided and the duckling managed to haul himself to the shore, bedraggled and soaked, he found himself looking down at a cross little sparrow.

"You're standing on my worm," she huffed.

"Oh, sorry!" the duckling yelped, quickly leaping to the side. He watched as the sparrow picked up her squashed worm and proceeded to leave. The cygnet quickly jumped up and followed her.

"Can I live with you, please? You can teach me to eat worms!" he begged.

The sparrow suddenly halted, sending the cygnet crashing into her. "No, I will not raise you, ugly duckling. I have my own brood already, and they're hard enough as it is." She spread her wings and took to the sky.

The ugly duckling stared at her retreating silhouette and plodded slowly on. Why wouldn't anyone take him?

A few days later, an old country woman captured him and prepared to throw him into her strew.

Desperately, the cygnet spotted a scarred tabby and hen nearby. "Please, help me!"

The cat ambled over and the hen followed. They inspected him closely. "You're not a goose," the cat decided. "Your bones will taste terrible. I guess we'll have to free you, little ugly duckling."

Before the old woman could react, the cat quickly nipped through the bands holding the cygnet captive.

"Oh, thank you!" he gasped. Then, without thinking, he added, "Please, can I live with you?"

The hen looked at the duckling skeptically. "She'll eat you if you stay."

The cat nodded, eyes half closed. "If you like living, leave now."

The cygnet hung his head and slowly plodded out the door. The woman dove for him, narrowly grasping one of his legs, but he left without even noticing the groans of pain behind him.

Months passed after his escape from the country woman, and the days gradually grew colder. The green leaves took on vivid fiery hues, and then seemingly just as quickly withered and fell off the tree, carried away by the wind.

One cool afternoon, the little cygnet looked up to see a flock of the most beautiful birds he had ever seen skimming over the clouds across the sky. Instinctively, he knew they were swans.

"Mother! Father!" he cried. His voice echoed in the still air, but the flock flew on without missing a beat. Desperately, the little swan flapped his stubby little wings and hopped into the air, trying to reach the receding flock. He was still too young to fly, though, and dejectedly gave up.

Finally, the young swan arrived at an seemingly uninhabited pond. A kind farmer spotted him huddling in the snow, and took him home. The ugly duckling thrived on the care and love of the farmer's children through the harsh winter, and tried to stay with them even as he outgrew the house and the warm outside beckoned. He finally had a family, and the confused cygnet couldn't understand why they wanted to get rid of him.

"We want to keep you too," the girl softly explained, "but you have to leave. You're a grown-up swan now, Father says, and we can't take care of you anymore." She let him go by the pond, and he swam unhappily around.

A few months later, a large flock of swans spotted him. They descended from the sky like a formation of angels, eyes lighting up. "Look, there's our missing child!" Soon, the young swan's entire family gathered around him, praising him for his elegance and beauty.

Pure delight spread through the swan, and he knew that he finally found a family. He was home.

**One. To Find a Family**

**(Short)**

The duck pond glittered in the sun's early glow, wisps of clouds floated across the clear azure sky, and birds sang merrily as they heralded another morning.

It was the perfect day for Mother Duck's newest brood to hatch. The ducklings tumbled into the world in a heap of yellow fluff and fuzz, eyes shining with curiosity and innocence as they peered at the wide world.

"They're perfect!" Mother Duck gushed.

Then, without warning, the last duckling popped out in a flurry of gray feathers. Mother Duck recoiled in horror, shielding her ducklings from the monstrosity with a sweep of her wing. "What an ugly duckling!"

Immediately, tears sprang to the gray duckling's eyes. "You—you don't like me?" he whimpered, voice small.

Shame flooded over Mother Duck. "No, no," she assured him quickly, "you're just not a duckling. You're a cygnet. Why don't you go and look for your real parents?" With a flick of a wing, she sent him on his way.

The little swan's eyes stung from tears threatening to spill. Why didn't his mother want him? Was it because he didn't have perfect yellow feathers and perfect black eyes? Maybe she just needed time to realize that he was different. The little cygnet wanted to stay with her.

The ugly duckling slept in the reeds for the first night, sobbing with sadness.

When the sun rose the next morning, the cygnet felt a little healed. Perhaps today Mother Duck would want him. He waddled to the edge of the pond and spotted the duck family. When they ignored his plaintive calls, the young swan dove in and started paddling. However, the current pushed him downstream relentlessly, and he floated past Mother Duck and her brood helplessly. They did not bother even to turn around.

Finally, when the current subsided and the duckling managed to haul himself to the shore, bedraggled and soaked, he found himself looking down at a cross little sparrow.

"You're standing on my worm," she huffed.

"Oh, sorry!" the duckling yelped, quickly leaping to the side. The sparrow picked up her squashed worm and the cygnet quickly jumped up. "Can I live with you, please? You can teach me to eat worms!" he begged.

"I will not raise you, ugly duckling. I have my own brood already, and they're hard enough as it is." She spread her wings and took to the sky.

A few days after the sparrow rejected him, an old country woman captured him and prepared to throw him into her stew.

Desperately, the cygnet spotted a scarred tabby and hen nearby. "Please, help me!"

Much to his surprise and relief, the cat nipped through the bands holding the cygnet captive without even a second glance. Still reeling over the shock, the little swan blurted, "Please, can I live here?"

Before either of the two animals could answer, a high-pitched, livid shriek erupted behind him. With the country woman chasing after him, the cygnet scrambled out the door as fast as his little legs could carry him.

One cool afternoon, the little cygnet looked up to see a flock of the most beautiful birds he had ever seen skimming over the clouds across the sky. Instinctively, he knew they were swans.

"Mother! Father!" he cried. His voice echoed in the still air, but the flock flew on without missing a beat. Desperately, the little swan flapped his stubby little wings and hopped into the air, trying to reach the receding flock. He was still too young to fly, though, and dejectedly gave up.

Finally, the young swan arrived at an seemingly uninhabited pond. A kind farmer spotted him huddling in the snow, and took him home for the winter. Even as he outgrew the house and the warm outside beckoned, the cygnet tried to stay with them. He finally had a family, and the confused cygnet couldn't understand why they wanted to get rid of him.

"We want to keep you too," the girl softly explained, "but you have to leave. You're a grown-up swan now, Father says, and we can't take care of you anymore." She let him go by the pond, and he swam unhappily around.

A few months later, a large flock of swans spotted him, eyes lighting up. "Look, there's our missing child!" Soon, the young swan's entire family gathered around him, praising him for his elegance and beauty.

Pure delight spread through the swan, and he knew that he finally found a family. He was home.

**Two. The Swan who Became a Duck **

**(Full)**

The duck pond glittered in the sun's early glow, wisps of clouds floated across the clear azure sky, and birds sang merrily as they heralded another morning.

It was the perfect day for Mother Duck's newest brood to hatch. The ducklings tumbled into the world in a heap of yellow fluff and fuzz, eyes shining with curiosity and innocence as they peered at the wide world.

"They're absolutely wonderful!" Mother Duck declared.

Then her eyes strayed to the largest duckling. It was a smoky gray, flapped his stubby wings, and honked loudly. Mother Duck shielded her perfect yellow ducklings with an outstretched wing and gathered them close to her.

With a joyful yelp, the ugly duckling scurried under her wing too, bumping into the smaller yellow ducklings. He looked up at Mother Duck with adoring eyes and snuggled up to her.

Mother Duck wanted to leave behind the ugly duckling, but how could she do so? Every time she moved a step, he would always come running after her.

"Go away, please," she begged the little duckling one day. "I'm not your mother, okay? Your real parents are swans. Go look for them."

"No," the cygnet insisted stubbornly. "You're my mother. I'm a duck." He hurled himself into the mass of yellow ducklings, desperately trying to grab a bite of food. Although the ducklings were much smaller than him, they ganged up and pushed him back, where he stared forlornly at his unwelcoming siblings.

The next day Mother Duck decided to take her ducklings for a swim. "Come along, dears," she cooed, and they lined up in a single line. The water splashed gently as each dove in, and they began to paddle around, following their proud mother.

There was a sudden splash, and droplets of water hurtled towards every duck as the ugly duckling leaped into the water. He bobbed around for a few seconds and then came up, eyes sparkling with delight. He zoomed around, disrupting the line and even cutting in front of Mother Duck.

"Stay at the back!" she snapped, her patience wearing thin.

The cygnet suddenly froze, and looked up at the angry duck hesitantly. "I'm sorry, Mother."

"I'm not your mother!" Her eyes flashed with anger, and the force of her words pushed the cygnet back as strongly as a wave. He turned and scrambled through the reeds until he couldn't see the duck family anymore.

However, he could still hear them, and he whimpered and trembled as the harsh words reached his ears. "Do not be frightened, my precious little babies. I will never drive you away. That hideous-looking duckling just needed to learn he isn't a duck."

That night as he slept, still hidden among the reeds, his sobs echoed in the still air, a cry of pure defeat.

The sound of scraping woke him up, and he blearily raised his head to see a small, non-descript sparrow pecking away at the ground. She turned to him. "Good morning," she chirped.

At that, he remembered the previous day's events, and tears immediately blurred his eyes again.

The sparrow hopped over. "What's wrong?" she asked in a kindly voice.

Hearing the little bird use a tone he wished Mother Duck spoke in, he lost all control and the tears dribbled fiercely down his face. "I—I want Mother Duck to like me. I'm one of her ducklings. Why does she hate me?"

The sparrow was silent. The ugly duckling began to trudge away, until the bird finally spoke.

"I don't know how to say this, but she's right. You aren't a duckling, I'm afraid. You're a cygnet, a baby swan. Maybe you'll be happier if you can find your real family."

"But I don't want swans! I want Mother Duck to like me!" His voice shook a little. "I want to go back." With a clumsy gait, he ran back towards the pond.

The cygnet padded furiously back towards the nest and leaped onto the shore. As he barreled into view, Mother Duck gave a little sigh. "I thought you left for good."

"No," the cygnet chirped earnestly. "I want to stay with you!"

Something flickered in Mother Duck's eyes. "But you can't. You're not a duck."

"Please, Mother Duck!" the cygnet pleaded. "I'll be a duck."

"Leave us, ugly duckling." The duck turned away and her ducklings huddled closer. They wandered off, leaving the young swan confused and alone.

He stared at their retreating backs, and a single tear dribbled down.

"I don't blame her," a new voice said.

The young swan whirled around to see a cat and a hen strolling around. The feline turned to the duckling and mewed, "You're a swan, and she can't provide for a swan. It's better for you to be with a real swan, so that's why she keeps pushing you away."

The cygnet turned away. This was exactly what the sparrow had told him. He didn't need to hear it again.

"I know you want to be with her," the hen told him, "but obviously she doesn't want you, so why do you bother?"

This was too much for the little duckling, and he fled from the insensitive words, heading deeper into the reeds.

Two large hands grabbed him, and he struggled as he was lifted off the ground. "Poor little ugly duckling!" the voice boomed. "I'll take you home! My children will love you!"

The little swan fought desperately but it was no use. Soon, he was plopped down on cold kitchen tiles, and heard excited footsteps heading his way with the cry, "Look! There's the new animal Papa brought for us!"

Wide-eyed with terror, the duckling shot to his feet and fled down the hall. The hallway was long and dimly lit, and the back door seemed an eternity away. The cygnet stole a glance over his shoulder and noticed, with renewed fear, that the children were gaining quickly.

He flapped his wings and hurtled out the door, heading back to the pond and the Mother Duck. He yelped as he spotted her, and skid towards her, cowering under her wing. "Help me, Mother!"

She gave him an irritated glance, but looked up, alarmed, as she watched the children manoeuvred clumsily through the reeds, stepping on a few accidentally with a wince-inducing _crack_.

"There it is!" the boy cried. He pointed behind Mother Duck, where the little cygnet still trembled in fear. The other ducklings looked on, muted with terror at the sight of the two intruders.

Something surged through Mother Duck—something she had never felt before towards the little ugly ducklings—and she stepped protectively in front of the gray cygnet. She flapped her large wings threateningly, and the two children took a hesitant step back.

However, the third child ran up just then. He was taller and older than the other two, and clenched a rock tightly in one fist. He took one look at Mother Duck and sneered. "I want that duckling." He leaned back, rock aimed at Mother Duck, and prepared to let loose.

A gray blur flashed past a terrified Mother Duck and rammed the older boy in the leg. A look of absolute shock manifested on his face, and he wobbled precariously for half a second before falling backwards into the pond with a thunderous splash.

The two other children immediately waded into the water, crying out for their brother.

"Hurry, run!" Mother Duck commanded. She herded her yellow ducklings towards the nest, and this time, ensured the little cygnet was also following.

As they fled, she glanced at the baby swan, stumbling along with the rest of her ducklings.

When they reached the nest, she turned to him, and hesitantly began, "Little ugly duckling, maybe I misjudged you."

The cygnet lifted his head, hope flickering in his dark eyes.

"Perhaps I should let you live with us." She looked at her own brood. "What do you say, my dears?"

The largest of the ducklings stepped forward, extending a yellow wing. "You saved our mother. I think you should stay with us."

The other ducklings murmured assent.

The rest of the year passed by in a blissful blur for the cygnet. As the other ducklings matured into ducks, he became a beautiful swan. His family no longer tried to drive him away, and Mother Duck treated him as an equal. She truly was his mother now.

One fall afternoon, the swan looked up to see a familiar formation of elegant white birds skim through the clouds. Mother Duck looked up as well, and recognized the wistful expression on her adopted duckling's face.

"Would you like to join them?" she asked gently. "If you left, we'd understand."

"No," the cygnet told her, eyes shining with promise. "You're my family now. This is my home.

The swan was only a swan in appearance. In his heart, he was a true duck.

**Two. The Swan who Became a Duck **

**(Short)**

The duck pond glittered in the sun's early glow, wisps of clouds floated across the clear azure sky, and birds sang merrily as they heralded another morning.

It was the perfect day for Mother Duck's newest brood to hatch. The ducklings tumbled into the world in a heap of yellow fluff and fuzz, eyes shining with curiosity and innocence as they peered at the wide world.

"They're absolutely wonderful!" Mother Duck declared.

Then her eyes strayed to the largest duckling, a mass of smoky gray feathers. Mother Duck shielded her perfect yellow ducklings with an outstretched wing and gathered them close to her.

With a joyful yelp, the ugly duckling scurried under her wing too, bumping into the smaller yellow ducklings. He looked up at Mother Duck with adoring eyes and snuggled up to her.

Mother Duck wanted to leave behind the ugly duckling, but how could she? Every time she moved a step, he would always come running after her.

"Go away, please," she begged the little duckling one day. "I'm not your mother, okay? Your real parents are swans. Go look for them."

"No," the cygnet insisted stubbornly. "You're my mother. I'm a duck."

Mother Duck tolerated him for a while, but her patience wore out one morning when she took her ducklings for a swim. Her ducklings swam in single file, neatly paddling along with barely a splash. The ugly duckling, however, zoomed around, disrupting the line and even cutting in front of Mother Duck.

"Stay at the back!" she snapped.

The cygnet suddenly froze, and looked up at the angry duck hesitantly. "I'm sorry, Mother."

"I'm not your mother!" Her eyes flashed with anger, and the force of her words pushed the cygnet back as strongly as a wave. He turned and scrambled through the reeds until he couldn't see the duck family anymore.

That night as he slept, still hidden among the reeds, his sobs echoed in the still air.

The sound of scraping woke him up in the morning, and he blearily raised his head to see a small, non-descript sparrow. "I heard you yesterday," she began in a kindly voice. "I don't know how to say this, but Mother Duck's right. You aren't a duckling, I'm afraid. You're a cygnet, a baby swan. Maybe you'll be happier if you find your real family."

"But I don't want swans! I want Mother Duck to like me!" His voice shook. "I want to go back." With a clumsy gait, he ran back towards the pond.

He found Mother Duck and her ducklings by the nest. "I want to stay with you!" he chirped earnestly. "Please, Mother Duck!"

"Leave us, cygnet." They wandered off, leaving the young swan confused and alone.

"I don't blame her," a new voice said.

The young swan whirled around to see a cat and a hen strolling around. The feline mewed, "She can't provide for a swan, so that's why she keeps pushing you away. I know you want to be with her, but obviously she doesn't want you, so why bother?"

This was too much for the little duckling, and he fled from the insensitive words, heading deeper into the reeds.

Two large hands grabbed him suddenly, and he struggled as he was lifted off the ground. "Poor little ugly duckling!" the voice boomed. "I'll take you home! My children will love you!"

The little swan fought desperately but it was no use. Soon, he was plopped down on cold kitchen tiles, and heard excited footsteps heading his way with the cry, "Look! There's the new animal Papa brought for us!"

Wide-eyed with terror, the duckling shot to his feet and fled down the hall. He hurtled out the back door, and headed straight for Mother Duck. "Help me, Mother!"

She gave him an irritated glance, but looked up, alarmed, as she noticed a tall boy crashing through the reeds towards them, a rock tightly clutched in one fist.

Something surged through Mother Duck and she stepped protectively in front of the gray cygnet. She flapped her large wings threateningly.

The boy only sneered. "I want that duckling." He leaned back, rock aimed at Mother Duck, and prepared to let loose.

A gray blur flashed past Mother Duck and rammed the boy in the leg. A look of absolute shock manifested on his face as he stared at the tiny cygnet, and he wobbled precariously before falling backwards into the pond with a thunderous splash.

"Hurry, run!" Mother Duck commanded. They fled towards the nest.

The rest of the year passed by in a blissful blur for the cygnet after he saved Mother Duck's life. As the other ducklings matured into ducks, he became a beautiful swan. His family no longer tried to drive him away, and Mother Duck treated him as an equal. She truly was his mother now.

One fall afternoon, the swan looked up to see a familiar formation of elegant white birds skim through the clouds. Mother Duck recognized the wistful expression on her adopted duckling's face.

"Would you like to join them?" she asked gently. "If you left, we'd understand."

"No," the swan told her, eyes shining with promise. "You're my family now. This is my home."

The swan was only a swan in appearance. In his heart, he was a true duck.

**Two. Swan and the Power of Family**

**(Full)**

"One, two, three, four—" Mother Swan looked around the pond, eyes peering into the tall grasses wreathed in misty shadows. "Where's my fifth egg?"

"I'm sure it's around here somewhere," Father Swan assured her, extending a brilliant white wing comfortingly.

"I have to find it!" Mother Swan cried, anxiety seeping into her voice. She spotted an old swan, an elder among their flock, and called, "Can you look after my clutch? One of my eggs is missing, and I'm going to go look for it."

Alarm flashed through Father Swan. "You can't leave! The cygnets won't recognize you as their mother if you're not present for the hatching."

"But I can't just leave the fifth egg out in the cold!" Mother Swan retorted. She flapped her wings in despair, sending a swift breeze through the grass.

"You are correct," a grave voice intoned behind her. Mother Swan spun around to see the elegant white bird she had called to earlier. Old yet still strong and beautiful, the others knew her only as Swan. If she ever had another name, no one used it. "I will search for your missing egg," she announced. "You will raise your cygnets. All will be well."

Mother Swan wanted to protest, but knew it would be a futile effort. Nobody won an argument against Swan when she had made a final decision, and this announcement carried a sense of finality even greater than usual.

Swan set out, lifting off with a grace few birds possessed, and Mother Swan turned her attention to the first cygnets fighting their way out of the egg. She had other matters to worry about now.

With age came wisdom, and Swan knew exactly where to look. It seemed obvious to her that the egg must have been taken by a duck—who else would take a swan egg? She headed towards the duck pond. She spotted the dark swath of reeds, and began her descent.

Swan didn't mean to startle the bright yellow ducklings, but they still recoiled when they spotted her and huddled behind Mother Duck.

"Greetings," she said formally. "I come on behalf of Mother Swan. Have you seen her wayward fifth egg?"

Mother Duck blinked in surprise. It was rare that Swan visited anyone nowadays, but they all knew of her. Among the birds, she was an old legend. "Why, yes. However, he left yesterday. He said he was going to look for his real parents." She glanced at Swan helplessly, as if apologizing for not stopping the little cygnet.

Swan nodded gravely. "So he hatched earlier than his siblings. This does not surprise me." She raised her wings in preparation for liftoff, and murmured, "I suppose he is headed towards our pond, then. Farewell, Mother Duck." With that, she soared into the air, growing smaller until she was no more than a speck in the blue sky.

Gliding close to the ground, Swan caught snippets of the conversations of the various field birds that populated the lands around the faded mahogany farmhouse. There were the daily conversations, of course, about the worm quality and the weather. However, a small sparrow's words intrigued her the most.

"I saw a ugly little duckling this morning," she told a passing flycatcher. "He was gray instead of yellow and walked clumsily."

Swan alighted next to them, her huge size dwarfing them both. "A cygnet?"

Both birds looked at her with reverence. "Yes," admitted the sparrow in an awed voice.

Looking from one to another, and tiring of their worshipping looks, Swan asked, "I assume you know which way he went?"

The sparrow nodded fervently. "I saw him captured by the old country woman who lives in the farmhouse." Seeing Swan's worried expression, she quickly added, "But don't worry, he escaped. That cygnet's a strong one."

"I thank you for your information," Swan said, and flew towards the farmhouse.

Unfortuantely, the old woman saw her first. "My, what a bird!" she cried. She lunged for Swan, and her grubby fingers barely missed the large bird.

The cat and hen ambled out, and the hen's eyes flashed in recognition. She whispered something to the tabby, who promptly began herding the woman back into the farmhouse with firm nudges.

The hen gestured for Swan to land, promising, "Don't worry, you're safe. That old woman couldn't catch you even if she wasn't losing her sight. I suppose you're here for the cygnet."

"Yes, I am," Swan answered.

The cat strolled over to them, whiskers twitching in satisfaction. "She follows commands well," the feline purred.

The hen clucked in approval. "You trained her well, that's why."

"The lost cygnet?" Swan prompted, regaining their attention.

"Yes," the hen said immediately. "We freed him, and he bolted out of that dark cage quick as a flash."

"But where did he go?" pressed Swan.

"Somewhere," the cat answered vaguely. "Sorry, Swan, we can't help." Unlike the birds, the tabby did not treat the elegant white bird as a diety, but Swan was relieved. All those awestruck looks became tiring after a while.

"I accept your apologies, and wish you luck with your country woman." Swan flew away once more in search of the fifth cygnet.

Winter came and went, and Swan endured the bitter cold and the freezing flakes that drifted from the sky. She had heard from some geese that a cygnet was thriving in the care of an old farmer, and it was unlikely he would leave. In her heart, Swan knew that was their missing swan. If he was happy there and well cared for, then she would not persuade him to return to Mother Swan.

Swan flew back to Mother Swan's nest, her wingbeats heavy with the news she would have to deliver. She did not want to be the one who faced the distraught swan, but Mother Swan had to know her little swan was not coming back.

As she neared the pond, she realized something felt different. Excitement buzzed in the air, almost as if it was tangible. Joyful cries punctuated the air. The swans were celebrating.

As Swan peered past the grasses, she inhaled sharply, not believing her eyes. Was that really the fifth cygnet? He was beautiful!

Mother Swan turned around and beckoned her forward with a sweep of a wing. "He came! My precious cygnet came back!"

The young swan turned to her. "You went out there searching for me?" he asked.

"Of course," Swan replied warmly. "You're part of our family."

The swans cheered so loudly even the air seemed to ripple with their joy. Family truly was powerful.

**Two. Swan and the Power of Family**

**(Short)**

"One, two, three, four—" Mother Swan looked around the pond, eyes peering into the tall grasses wreathed in misty shadows. "Where's my fifth egg?"

"I'm sure it's around here somewhere," Father Swan assured her, extending a brilliant white wing comfortingly.

"I have to find it!" Mother Swan cried, anxiety seeping into her voice. "Look after my clutch, Father Swan. I'm leaving to find my missing egg."

Alarm flashed through the male swan. "You can't leave! The cygnets won't recognize you as their mother if you're not present for the hatching."

"But I can't just leave the fifth egg out in the cold!" Mother Swan retorted. She flapped her wings in despair, sending a swift breeze through the grass.

"You are correct," a grave voice intoned behind her. Mother Swan spun around to see an elegant white bird. Old yet still strong and beautiful, the others knew her only as Swan. "I will search for your missing egg," she announced. "You will raise your cygnets. All will be well."

Mother Swan's protest died in her throat. Nobody won an argument against Swan.

The large bird set out, lifting off with a grace few possessed, and Mother Swan turned her attention to the first cygnets fighting their way out of the egg. She had other matters to worry about now.

With age came wisdom, and Swan knew exactly where to look. It seemed obvious to her that the egg must have been taken by a duck—who else would take a swan egg? She headed towards the duck pond. She spotted the dark swath of reeds, and began her descent.

"Greetings," she said formally, folding her wings. "I come on behalf of Mother Swan. Have you seen her wayward fifth egg?"

Mother Duck blinked in surprise and reverence at Swan's arrival. The elegant white waterfowl was an old legend among the birds. "Why, yes. However, he left yesterday. He said he was going to look for his real parents." She glanced at Swan helplessly, as if apologizing for not stopping the little cygnet.

Swan nodded gravely. "So he hatched earlier than his siblings. This does not surprise me." She raised her wings in preparation for liftoff, and murmured, "I suppose he is headed towards our pond, then. Farewell, Mother Duck." With that, she soared into the air, growing smaller until she was no more than a speck in the blue sky.

Gliding close to the ground, Swan caught snippets of the conversations of the various field birds that populated the lands around the faded mahogany farmhouse. A sparrow's words caught her attention, and she alighted next to her, dwarfing the tiny brown bird. "You say you saw a cygnet this morning?"

The sparrow looked at her reverently. "Yes," admitted the sparrow in an awed voice. "He was gray instead of yellow and walked clumsily. I saw him captured by the old country woman who lives in the farmhouse." Seeing Swan's worried expression, she quickly added, "But don't worry, he escaped. That cygnet's a strong one."

"I thank you for your information," Swan said, and flew towards the farmhouse.

Unfortuantely, the old woman saw her first. "My, what a bird!" she cried. She lunged for Swan, and her grubby fingers barely missed the large bird.

The cat and hen ambled out, and the hen's eyes flashed in recognition. She whispered something to the tabby, who promptly began herding the woman back into the farmhouse with firm nudges.

The hen gestured for Swan to land, promising, "Don't worry, you're safe. That old woman couldn't catch you even if she wasn't losing her sight. I suppose you're here for the cygnet."

"Yes, I am," Swan answered. "Although, I heard he escaped."

The hen clucked in affirmation as the cat padded up to them, whiskers twitching in satisfaction. "Yes, we freed him, and he bolted out of that dark cage quick as a flash."

"But where did he go?" pressed Swan.

"Somewhere," the cat answered vaguely. "Sorry, Swan, we can't help." Unlike the birds, the tabby did not treat the elegant white bird as a deity.

"I accept your apologies, and wish you luck with your country woman." Swan flew away once more in search of the fifth cygnet.

Winter came and went, and Swan endured the bitter cold and the freezing flakes that drifted from the sky. She had heard from some geese that a cygnet was thriving in the care of an old farmer, and it was unlikely he would leave. In her heart, Swan knew that was their missing swan. If he was happy there and well cared for, then she would not persuade him to return to Mother Swan.

Swan flew back to Mother Swan's nest, her wingbeats heavy with the news she would have to deliver. She did not want to be the one who faced the distraught swan, but Mother Swan had to know her little swan was not coming back.

As she neared the pond, she realized something felt different. Excitement buzzed all around her, almost as if it was tangible. Joyful cries punctuated the air. The swans were celebrating.

As Swan peered past the grasses, she inhaled sharply, not believing her eyes. Was that really the fifth cygnet? He was beautiful!

Mother Swan turned around and beckoned her forward with a sweep of a wing. "He came! My precious cygnet came back!"

The young swan turned to her. "You went out there searching for me?" he asked, awestruck.

"Of course," Swan replied warmly. "You're part of our family."

In all her years, Swan had never seen a family reunion as joyous as the return of the fifth cygnet. He had taught her the power of family.

* * *

><p>This was my not-so-little project for English class, and I'm amazed at the length (though, I'm not surprised that my teacher didn't accept the entire thing; she tends to be strict about length limits). If you managed to read all of that-thank you! ^^ If you didn't, that's okay, too.<p>

I won't ask too much for reviews, but it'd be really nice if you could tell me what you think.

~ShroudedMist


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